THE AMBASSADORS.
D'Artagnan had, with very few exceptions, learned almost all the
particulars of what we have just been relating; for among his friends he
reckoned all the useful, serviceable people in the royal
household--officious attendants who were proud of being recognized by
the captain of the musketeers, for the captain's influence was very
great, and then, in addition to any ambitious views they may have
imagined he could promote, they were proud of being regarded as worth
being spoken to by a man as brave as D'Artagnan. In this manner
D'Artagnan learned every morning what he had not been able either to see
or to ascertain the night before, from the simple fact of his not being
ubiquitous; so that, with the information he had been able by his own
means to pick up during the day, and with what he had gathered from
others, he succeeded in making up a bundle of weapons, which he untied
as occasion might require. In this way D'Artagnan's two eyes rendered
him the same service as the hundred eyes of Argus. Political secrets,
bedside revelations, hints or scraps of conversation dropped by the
courtiers on the threshold of the royal antechamber, in this way
D'Artagnan managed to ascertain and to put away everything in the vast
and impenetrable tomb of his memory, by the side of those royal secrets
so dearly bought and faithfully preserved. He therefore knew of the
king's interview with Colbert, and of the appointment made for the
ambassadors in the morning, and consequently he knew that the question
of the medals would be brought under debate; and, while he was arranging
and constructing the conversation upon a few chance words which had
reached his ears, he returned to his post in the royal apartments, so as
to be there at the very moment the king would awake. It happened that
the king woke very early--proving thereby that he, too, on his side, had
slept but indifferently. Toward seven o'clock, he half-opened his door
very gently. D'Artagnan was at his post. His majesty was pale, and
seemed wearied; he had not, moreover, quite finished dressing.
"Send for M. de Saint-Aignan," he said.
Saint-Aignan very probably awaited a summons, for the messenger, when he
reached his apartment, found him already dressed. Saint-Aignan hastened
to the king in obedience to the summons. A moment afterward the king and
Saint-Aignan passed by together, but the king walking first. D'Artagnan
went to the window which looked out upon the courtyards; he had no need
to put himself to the trouble of watching in what direction the king
went, for he had no difficulty in guessing beforehand where his majesty
was going. The king, in fact, bent his steps toward the apartments of
the maids of honor--a circumstance which in no way astonished
D'Artagnan, for he more than suspected, although La Valliere had not
breathed a syllable on the subject, that the king had some kind of
reparation to make. Saint-Aignan followed him as he had done the
previous evening, rather less uneasy in his mind, though still slightly
agitated, for he fervently trusted that at seven o'clock in the morning
there might be only himself and the king awake among the august guests
at the palace. D'Artagnan stood at the window, careless and perfectly
calm in his manner. One could almost have sworn that he noticed nothing
and was utterly ignorant who were these two hunters after adventures,
who were passing across the courtyards, wrapped up in their cloaks. And
yet, all the while that D'Artagnan appeared not to be looking at them at
all, he did not for one moment lose sight of them, and while he whistled
that old march of the musketeers, which he rarely recalled except under
great emergencies, he conjectured and prophesied how terrible would be
the storm which would be raised on the king's return. In fact, when the
king entered La Vallieire's apartment and found the room empty and the
bed untouched, he began to be alarmed, and called out to Montalais, who
immediately answered the summons; but her astonishment was equal to the
king's. All that she could tell his majesty was, that she had fancied
she had heard La Valliere weep during a portion of the night, but,
knowing that his majesty had returned, she had not dared to inquire what
was the matter.
"But," inquired the king, "where do you suppose she is gone to?"
"Sire," replied Montalais, "Louise is of a very sentimental disposition,
and as I have often seen her rise at daybreak in order to go out into
the garden, she may perhaps be there now."
This appeared probable, and the king immediately ran down the staircase
in search of the fugitive. D'Artagnan saw him appear very pale, and
talking in an excited manner with his companion, as he went toward the
gardens; Saint-Aignan following him, out of breath. D'Artagnan did not
stir from the window, but went on whistling, looking as if he saw
nothing and yet seeing everything. "Come, come," he murmured, when the
king disappeared, "his majesty's passion is stronger than I thought; he
is now doing, I think, what he never did for Mademoiselle de Mancini."
In a quarter of an hour the king again appeared: he had looked
everywhere, was completely out of breath, and, as a matter of course,
had not discovered anything. Saint-Aignan, who still followed him, was
fanning himself with his hat, and, in a gasping voice, asking for
information about La Valliere from such of the servants as were about,
in fact, from every one he met. Among others he came across Manicamp,
who had arrived from Fontainebleau by easy stages; for while others had
performed the journey in six hours, he had taken four-and-twenty.
"Have you seen Mademoiselle de la Valliere?" Saint-Aignan asked him.
Whereupon Manicamp, dreamy and absent as usual, answered, thinking that
some one was asking him about De Guiche, "Thank you, the comte is a
little better."
And he continued on his way until he reached the antechamber where
D'Artagnan was, and whom he asked to explain how it was the king looked,
as he thought, so bewildered; to which D'Artagnan replied that he was
quite mistaken; that the king, on the contrary, was as lively and merry
as he could possibly be.
In the midst of all this, eight o'clock struck. It was usual for the
king to take his breakfast at this hour, for the code of etiquette
prescribed that the king should always be hungry at eight o'clock. His
breakfast was laid upon a small table in his bedroom, and he ate very
fast. Saint-Aignan, of whom he would not lose sight, held his napkin in
his hand. He then disposed of several military audiences, during which
he dispatched Saint-Aignan to see what he could find out. Then, still
occupied, still full of anxiety, still watching Saint-Aignan's return,
who had sent out his servants in every direction, to make inquiries, and
who had also gone himself, the hour of nine struck, and the king
forthwith passed into his large cabinet.
As the clock was striking nine the ambassadors entered, and as it
finished the two queens and Madame made their appearance. There were
three ambassadors from Holland, and two from Spain. The king glanced at
them, and then bowed: and, at the same moment, Saint-Aignan entered--an
entrance which the king regarded as far more important, in a different
sense, however, than that of the ambassadors, however numerous they
were, and from whatever country they came: and so, setting everything
else aside, the king made a sign of interrogation to Saint-Aignan, which
the latter answered by a most decisive negative. The king almost
entirely lost his courage; but as the queens, the members of the
nobility who were present, and the ambassadors, had their eyes fixed
upon him, he overcame his emotion by a violent effort, and invited the
latter to speak. Whereupon one of the Spanish deputies made a long
oration, in which he boasted the advantages which the Spanish alliance
would offer.
The king interrupted him, saying, "Monsieur, I trust that whatever is
advantageous for France must be exceedingly advantageous for Spain."
This remark, and particularly the peremptory tone in which it was
pronounced, made the ambassadors pale, and brought the color into the
cheeks of the two queens, who, being Spanish, felt wounded by this reply
in their pride of relationship and nationality.
The Dutch ambassador then began to address himself to the king, and
complained of the injurious suspicions which the king exhibited against
the government of his country.
The king interrupted him, saying, "It is very singular, monsieur, that
you should come with any complaint, when it is I rather who have reason
to be dissatisfied; and yet, you see, I do not complain."
"Complain, sire; and in what respect?"
The king smiled bitterly. "Will you blame me, monsieur," he said, "if I
should happen to entertain suspicions against a government which
authorizes and protects public insulters?"
"Sire!"
"I tell you," resumed the king, exciting himself by a recollection of
his own personal annoyance, rather than from political grounds, "that
Holland is a land of refuge for all who hate me, and especially for all
who malign me."
"Oh, sire!"
"You wish for proofs, perhaps? Very good: they can be had easily enough.
Whence proceed all those insulting pamphlets which represent me as a
monarch without glory and without authority; your printing-presses groan
under their number. If my secretaries were here, I would mention the
titles of the works as well as the names of the printers."
"Sire," replied the ambassador, "a pamphlet can hardly be regarded as
the work of a whole nation. Is it just, is it reasonable, that a great
and powerful monarch like your majesty should render a whole nation
responsible for the crime of a few madmen, who are starving or dying of
hunger?"
"That may be the case, I admit. But when the mint at Amsterdam strikes
off medals which reflect disgrace upon me, is that also the crime of a
few madmen?"
"Medals!" stammered out the ambassador.
"Medals," repeated the king, looking at Colbert.
"Your majesty," the ambassador ventured, "should be quite sure--"
The king still looked at Colbert; but Colbert appeared not to understand
him, and maintained an unbroken silence, notwithstanding the king's
repeated hints. D'Artagnan then approached the king, and taking a piece
of money out of his pocket, he placed it in the king's hands, saying,
"That is the medal your majesty alludes to."
The king looked at it, and with a glance which, ever since he had become
his own master, had been always soaring in its gaze, observed an
insulting device representing Holland arresting the progress of the sun,
with this inscription: "_In conspectu meo stetit sol._"
"'In my presence the sun stands still,'" exclaimed the king furiously.
"Ah! you will hardly deny it now, I suppose."
"And the sun," said D'Artagnan, "is this," as he pointed to the panels
of the cabinet, where the sun was brilliantly represented in every
direction with this motto, "_Nec pluribus impar._"
Louis' anger, increased by the bitterness of his own personal
sufferings, hardly required this additional circumstance to foment it.
Every one saw, from the kindling passion in the king's eyes, that an
explosion was most imminent. A look from Colbert kept back the storm
from bursting forth. The ambassador ventured to frame excuses by saying
that the vanity of nations was a matter of little consequence; that
Holland was proud that, with such limited resources, she had maintained
her rank as a great nation, even against powerful monarchs, and that if
a little smoke had intoxicated his country men, the king would be
kindly disposed, and would excuse this intoxication. The king seemed as
if he would be glad of some one's advice; he looked at Colbert, who
remained impassible; then at D'Artagnan, who simply shrugged his
shoulders, a movement which was like the opening of the flood-gates,
whereby the king's anger, which he had restrained for so long a period,
now burst forth. As no one knew what direction his anger might take, all
preserved a dead silence. The second ambassador took advantage of it to
begin his excuses also. While he was speaking, and while the king, who
had again gradually returned to his own personal reflections, listened
to the voice, full of nervous anxiety, with the air of an absent man
listening to the murmuring of a cascade, D'Artagnan, on whose left hand
Saint-Aignan was standing, approached the latter, and, in a voice which
was loud enough to reach the king's ears, said: "Have you heard the
news?"
"What news?" said Saint-Aignan.
"About La Valliere?"
The king started, and involuntarily advanced a step nearer to them.
"What has happened to La Valliere?" inquired Saint-Aignan, in a tone
which can very easily be imagined.
"Ah, poor girl! she is going to take the veil."
"The veil!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
"The veil!" cried the king, in the midst of the ambassador's discourse;
but then, mindful of the rules of etiquette, he mastered himself, still
listening, however, with rapt attention.
"What order?" inquired Saint-Aignan.
"The Carmelites of Chaillot."
"Who the deuce told you that?"
"She did herself."
"You have seen her, then?"
"Nay, I even went with her to the Carmelites."
The king did not lose a syllable of this conversation, and again he
could hardly control his feelings.
"But what was the cause of her flight?" inquired Saint-Aignan.
"Because the poor girl was driven away from the court yesterday,"
replied D'Artagnan.
He had no sooner said this, than the king, with an authoritative
gesture, said to the ambassador, "Enough, monsieur, enough!" Then,
advancing toward the captain, he exclaimed, "Who says that La Valliere
is going to take the religious vows?"
"M. d'Artagnan," answered the favorite.
"Is it true what you say?" said the king, turning toward the musketeer.
"As true as truth itself."
The king clenched his hands, and turned pale. "You have something
further to add, M. d'Artagnan?" he said.
"I know nothing more, sire."
"You added that Mademoiselle de la Valliere had been driven away from
the court."
"Yes, sire."
"Is that true also?"
"Ascertain it for yourself, sire."
"And from whom?"
"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, like a man declining to say anything further.
The king almost bounded from his seat, regardless of ambassadors,
ministers, courtiers, and politics. The queen-mother rose; she had heard
everything, or, if she had not heard everything, she had guessed it.
Madame, almost fainting from anger and fear, endeavored to rise as the
queen-mother had done; but she sank down again upon her chair, which, by
an instinctive movement, she made roll back a few paces.
"Gentlemen," said the king, "the audience is over; I will communicate my
answer, or rather my will, to Spain and to Holland;" and with a proud,
imperious gesture, he dismissed the ambassadors.
"Take care, my son," said the queen-mother, indignantly, "take care; you
are hardly master of yourself, I think."
"Ah, madame," returned the young lion, with a terrible gesture, "if I am
not master of myself, I will be, I promise you, of those who do me
outrage. Come with me, M. d'Artagnan, come." And he quitted the room in
the midst of a general stupefaction and dismay. The king hastily
descended the staircase, and was about to cross the courtyard.
"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "your majesty mistakes the way."
"No; I am going to the stables."
"That is useless, sire, for I have horses ready for your majesty."
The king's only answer was a look, but this look promised more than the
ambition of three D'Artagnans could have dared to hope.